


Tactical Survival

by paradiamond



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Coping Mechanisms, Credence/Graves origin story, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, following Credence through his early childhood until around the start of the film
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 18:03:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8677471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradiamond/pseuds/paradiamond
Summary: Credence lives his life in moments, letting the past go as soon as it happens. He becomes a new person, tolerates his sister, and learns to fear his mother. He endures, holding back the flood with hard won control. Then Mr. Graves walks into his life, and smashes it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Credence Barebone has taken over my life, I'm a shell of who I used to be. Really though, I find these characters endlessly interesting. Let me know what you think of my interpretation! I'm still working through my thoughts, but writing this definitely helped. 
> 
> Visit me at paradiamond.tumblr.com (:
> 
> Playlist for this fic: https://playmoss.com/en/paradiamond/playlist/credence-barebone

When he's born his name is not Credence. 

He doesn't know what it was, not anymore. He made it go away. Just like he got rid of everything else from before. There was something before Mrs. Barebone, but Credence only knows this because there had to be. But his first real memory is of her arrival, the way she looked at him. 

“This one,” she said to another woman who let her take him without question. Mrs. Barebone hadn’t looked away, pinning Credence to the floor like a butterfly with her gaze. 

Credence had followed her obediently. He remember feeling grateful that he had been chosen from among the others. His mother had seemed like a savior then, come to pull him up and out of the darkness. She brought him to a house and stared at him for a long time in silence. Then she tilted her head. 

“Credence. That will be your name from now on. No more of the old one, yes?” 

He blinked at her, legs dangling off a wooden chair. Mrs. Barebone required no response, preferring her children to be silent unless absolutely necessary. Credence, born at that exact moment, stayed quiet and good. 

She hummed in approval, eyes narrowed almost into slits. “I’ve saved you from a horrible fate. Did you know that? Without me, you would have fallen into evil, just like your mother.” 

He hadn’t known what she was talking about then, but he understood adults well enough to nod anyway. There is never a time for questions. Information comes in pieces and only when it is given freely. 

Mrs. Barebone leaned against the back of her own chair. “Good. You’ll meet your sister later. She’s younger than you, only three. I’ve chosen you for your strength, to be the man of this house, do you understand?” 

Credence nodded again. He was five at the time, and very good at following the rules.

***

“Credence, would you like to hold the pamphlets?” his mother asks, still looking down at them all laid out on the table. 

He nods eagerly and hold up his arm, reaching as high as he can to receive them. From above, his mother raises an eyebrow at him and doesn’t move. Credence freezes, feeling suddenly terrified and furious all at once. It claws up his throat, begging to be released. But he knows from last time that he he yells, or cries, he won’t get the pamphlets. He won’t get anything at all. Mother will ignore him until he finally quiets, and eventually he’ll get a slap. Then, it will be back to nothing, maybe even for days.

His arm shakes, but he makes himself put it down, back where it belongs. He curls his hand into a fist and lets his nails dig into his palm. His nails are jagged from biting, another thing his mother doesn’t like. Right now he can’t help it, but eventually, he’ll be able to stop. He’s only eight, and for now some things can be forgiven. One day, Credence will be a man and he’ll be too old for that. But for now, his breathing is shaking. It’s making the rest of him shake too, but he hasn’t made a sound yet. It’s not too late. 

He stands there in silence for what feels like a long time, his mother waiting for him. She patient, always so patient with Credence’s silences and Chastity’s disobedience. Mother is the epitome of control, living as their example, she says. Nothing moves her, not cries, not screams. 

Credence takes a breath, steady now. He looks back up. “Yes, please.” 

His mother smiles down at him and holds the papers down where he can reach them. “Here you go. Do you feel better?” 

He accepts the pamphlets with wide eyes and holds them close to his chest, elated. “Yes, ma’am” 

“Do you know why?” 

He opens his mouth, but hesitates, not wanting to give a wrong answer. “Because it’s easy to sin but better not to?” 

She raises her eyebrows at him. “Is that a question?” 

Credence shakes his head, eyes wide. 

His mother’s eyes narrow and he feels a twinge of fear before she reaches down and pinches his cheek, hard. “What?” 

“No, ma’am,” Credence says, his eyes watering now. He doesn’t like talking at all, but at least it’s easier to talk to his mother than it is to strangers. 

His mother’s face suddenly morphs into a smile and her hand moves from his cheek to his hair, smoothing it down. Credence leans into her hand, blinking fast so as not to cry. “You are _fine_ , Credence. What do we say? ‘You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.’” 

“Matthew,” Credence says, promptly. His eyes have stopped watering, but his cheek still stings. 

“Don’t talk out of turn,” his mother says, and straightens up, out of Credence’s reach. She doesn’t tell him if he was right or not. “Alright, it’s time to go.” 

They leave their apartment and go out onto the street, Credence following behind his mother as best he can, her head held high even as people glare at her. Credence tries to keep his head high too, even when it’s hard to look at some of the people they pass. His mother always says that the righteous are always looked down on before people realize they were right all along. The key to faith is holding true even when it’s hard. 

Of course everything seems to be hard for Credence, but that just means he has to try harder. 

It is necessary for Credence to learn the truth about witchcraft and the evil arts. He needs to learn everything, but even more importantly, he needs to be able to tell other people. It’s important for everyone, but it’s even more dire for him. 

His before mother was a witch. 

Mrs. Barebone, his new mother, his true mother, told him this. She was a witch, a sinner of the worst kind. Witches cavort with the devil. They invite him into their lives and trade righteousness for temporary powers of the Earth. Magic is a real danger to all, but mother says that it is especially appealing to people like him. It is a seductive, evil behavior that the worst among them chose, and Credence was born of it. 

If Credence isn’t very careful, he could end up a sinner too. 

***

He sits on the floor in his room with his hands pressed to the wood, eyes closed. The shaking hasn’t stopped, but it will. Credence makes it stop, makes it go away every time. Mother won’t tolerate it. He has to stop it before she sees. He’s ten, not a baby anymore. He knows how to control himself. 

He needs that control now more than ever. 

Yesterday, Credence woke up somewhere he didn’t fall asleep. He was outside, laying in the grass. It’s not the first time, but it is the worst. He couldn’t get home before his mother noticed he was gone. To her, nothing is unintentional. If Credence is sleepwalking it’s because he didn’t stop it from happening. Sleepwalkers are possessed by the devil, taken in by magic. Credence needs to work harder to resist, to be strong. 

His back hurts, all the way from his shoulders to the backs of his legs. It hurts, but Credence knows that he is lucky. Sometimes to get the devil out they use scourges and flames. He only got the belt, and only because his mother loves him. She protects him even if it hurts her too. Even if the others in their neighborhood don’t like her and they might be evicted from their apartment. She does what has to be done and one day Credence will be the man his mother brought him home to be, and he’ll help her make the world right. 

But today, he has to work on keeping the devil away, fighting the evil spirits back. 

Credence furrows his eyebrows, trying to concentrate. The shaking hasn’t stopped yet. It takes over him sometimes, a sign of his weak nature. It makes him vulnerable to the evil. 

The door opens, and he jumps to scramble up, eyes wide. But it’s only his sister Chastity. He glares at her, but she only smiles back. 

“What do you want?” he asks, mad that she had interrupted him. 

She looks him over and shrugs. “What are you doing?” 

“Praying,” he shoots back, even though he wasn’t. “What were you doing?” 

Chastity’s smile falls. “Praying too.” 

“Liar,” Credence scoffs. He knows that Chastity doesn’t pray, that she only pretends. Her lie makes him mad, especially after his lie to her. He doesn’t want to be like Chastity, ever. 

“I’m not a liar!” Chastity yells back, suddenly furious, all emotion and lack of control. She does it on purpose, just to hurt mother. 

Credence narrows his eyes at her. “Yes you are. Ma says so. She says you’re a bad girl.” 

Chastity shakes her head. “No she doesn’t.” 

Credence takes a step towards her. Chastity doesn’t step back, her chin raised in defiance. They’re almost exactly the same size, but one day they won’t be. “Yes she does. I heard her talking to mister Grey. She said she picked a wicked child and that she has to do better next time!” 

“No!” Chastity screams and lunges for him. Credence jumps nearly out of his skin and tries to get out of the way, but he’s too late. 

They hit the ground and roll, the sounds of breaking things and flesh hitting wood muffled against the pounding in his ears. Chastity hits him in the nose and then quickly gets the upper hand out of pure rage and luck that she had caught him the day after a beating. Credence presses his teeth together to keep from screaming, struggling to push her off of him as she swipes at his face. He kicks up wildly with his foot and manages to dislodge her. Chastity yells hysterically and grabs for his arm, rolling them over again. 

Credence pushes back but doesn’t understand why his leg hurts when Chastity hasn’t touched it until Chastity's screams take on a panicked edge. _Wrong, something is wrong._ He pushes her away, her fear catching in his chest like a spreading fire. She isn’t supposed to ever sound like that, like she’s really hurt. Credence scrambles up and away from her, his leg throbbing with the effort and his throat closing up. He looks down and sees a shard of glass sticking out of it. 

He blinks, confusion and pain making his eyes tear up. “What-” 

The door to his room hits the wall and stays there, his mother suddenly appearing, white faced and wide eyed. “What on earth- Chastity!” 

Credence blinks, his eyes starting to fill up and looks back down to see Chastity kneeling on the floor next to a pile of glass that hadn’t been there before, crying and covered in cuts. He stares, horrified and confused as his mother frantically starts pulling the tiny sharps out of Chastity’s skin, her hair, her face, her own fingers getting cut up in the process. “Thank the lord, they’re small, they’re- oh Credence!” 

He jerks his head up at look at her, his heart jumping to his throat. “It- it wasn’t me,” he says, panic setting in. Chastity is crying too hard to argue. He looks around wildly and finally sees it. “Chastity broke the window!” 

His mother isn’t listening, too busy poking at his leg and making him lay down on the floor again. He doesn’t understand, they hadn’t been anywhere near the window. His heart pounds hard, making the blood come faster. He looks down, and the tears start to fall. “It’s wasn’t me- I didn’t do it.” 

Credence screams, and a hand drops onto his mouth, holding him shut. His leg hurts, his back hurts. Everything goes back. Then it comes back again. 

“He’s awake,” someone says. Credence blinks, surprised to find himself on the floor before he remembers. He looks around wildly and sees Chastity is staring at him, wide eyed and still horribly silent. Credence has never seen her go longer than five minutes without talking when she could get away with it. He looks away, into the face of a doctor, who is tearing his leg apart. Another person, his mother, holds him down. 

“Chastity broke the window,” he sobs. “She broke it.” 

He says it so often that he believes it, and he makes sure everyone else believe it too. Everyone knows that in one of her fits of emotion, Chastity had broken the window that day. She was a bad child, a wicked girl. It doesn’t occur to him until much, much later that if Chastity had broken the window, the glass would have been on the outside. 

***

Credence becomes a man almost without noticing. Nothing changes. Twenty years and more slip away without leaving a trace. The only major difference the year he turns twenty four is that they are thrown out of the church. Of course, they had moved into a building made to look like a church four years earlier, which is likely part of the problem. 

The other church people never liked them very much. Credence could tell from the first day his mother brought him there. The Barebone’s views are too extreme, they say, their actions too forward. After the pastor brings them into the office and then sends them out for good, his mother rages for days, but Credence is relieved. 

Church had never been a haven for him, not the way he knows it’s supposed to be. Being in that room only made him feel like there was a band wrapped around his chest, putting pressure to the point that he could barely breathe. Every time the pastor looked at him, it seemed like he could see into Credence’s very soul. But not anymore. 

“I can’t believe they would have the- the audacity!” his mother hisses, angrily slamming a stack of pamphlets down on the table between them. 

Credence doesn’t respond, but Chastity is hanging on to her every word, nodding along and watching with wide eyes. Credence watches her out of the corner of his eye with growing irritation, but looks away when her eyes dart to his. They don’t speak to each other in front of mother, something they had both learned was the best survival technique over the years. 

Chastity the wicked girl had become Chastity the little Mary Lou. 

The transformation was quick, like a birth. She had finally become the good girl after their mother had enough of her nonsense and put her out in the street for a few days to learn. She came back to them different, and treated Credence differently too. Sometimes she says things to him about before, implying that there’s something wrong with him when he’s the one that always tried the hardest, who even covered for her when she was bad. 

She sickens him now. Even having her look in his direction make his skin crawl, especially when it’s to watch their mother punish him. Chastity never gets punished anymore, but Credence still does, no matter how hard he tries. Chastity loves that, it’s as plain as day. But most of the time she’s focused on Modesty, her little doll, and on being perfect for Ma. 

“And why didn’t you say something Credence?” his mother cries, rounding on him with a furious look in her eye. 

Credence ducks his head. Before, the question would have sent him into a panic, but now he knows what to say without even having to think about it. “I wouldn’t presume to talk out of turn, mother.” 

“Well that’s all well and good but-” His mother shakes her head and waves a hand. “Just- just go. I can’t stand to look at you right now.” 

Credence looks away out of respect but eagerly embraces the opportunity to take a stack of pamphlets and leave, looking forward to being outside and away from the house for a few hours at the very least. Chastity’s eyes follow him all the way to the door, a bee that had long lost its sting, but he only spares a glance for Modesty, who peers at him from the chair in the corner. He smiles at her as he passes, and she makes a face at him, smiling with her eyes. But he doesn’t have a lot of time if he want to get out. 

He shifts the stack to his stinging right hand for a moment to shut the door, having learned long ago that it’s better to have paper on cuts than the metal doorknob. Ma hadn’t hit him on the back or legs in years, preferring to stick to his hands. _That way the lesson lasts longer_ , she always says. _You have to use your hands._ The pain starts to fade when he switches back, but he still has to fight the urge to flex his hand as he walks. That will only make it worse. 

Credence picks up the pace as he makes his way to one of his usual spots, half hoping and half dreading who he might see there. His heart rate picks up as he turns the last corner, betraying him. The man is there, already standing at the corner. He seems to be waiting. For Credence? It doesn’t make sense but he can’t shake the feeling that it’s true. Credence takes a deep breath and tries to focus, to keep his gaze away from the man. He certainly wants it to be true. 

Credence has seen this same man several times now. He’s older, well dressed with striking hawk like features. He has a haircut that is reminiscent of Credence’s but only serves to demonstrate the stark difference between them. Credence strongly suspects that whoever cuts his hair doesn’t do it with dull scissors and a bowl. He’s beautiful, and Credence had a dream about him the week before, doing things that no men should do together, things the preacher at church specifically pulled him aside to warm him about, as though he could smell it on him. Maybe he did. 

Credence looks up, not to stare, just to check if he’s still there, which he is. The man is standing with his hands in his pockets, casually leaning against the great pillar of the white stone administration building. He’s looking down at a pocket watch, and Credence is hit with a stab of disappointment. Sometimes, Credence sees him watching him. But unlike most people, he doesn’t look away when Credence catches him looking, just stares back calmly until Credence can’t meet his eyes anymore. 

Today, Credence stands in his usual place and silently holds out the flyers for the passersby to ignore, just as he always does. He positions himself so that he can watch the man out of the corner of his eye. On some days when he looks away and looks back, the man is just gone, vanished as though he had never been there. Credence hates those moments the most. He has changed nothing about his routine, but then the man looks up and straight at Credence. Then he straightens up and crosses the street without looking, heading straight for him. Credence’s heart jumps to his throat and he freezes to watch him approach, hardly daring to believe it. 

The man stops directly in front of him, expression open and expectant. Credence blinks up at him, arm still extended, too shocked to move. The man smiles slightly and looks down, to Credence’s hand. The loss of eye contact jolts Credence into action. He straightens his back and holds the flyer out farther, reaching closer to the man who’d been haunting him. 

“Sir, would you be interested in hearing about the New Salem Philanthropic Society?” The words are familiar and easy, and he manages to say them only because he had done so a thousand times before. The man tilts his head, amusement briefly crossing his features before smoothing out again. 

“I would,” he says, and his voice startles Credence, who had imagined it in the past and grew to expect not only that he would never hear it himself, but that it would be the soft tones of the upper class. This man’s voice is rougher, deeper, betraying something Credence doesn’t know. He doesn’t take the flyer. Credence clears his throat and almost regrets the answer, wanting to just turn and disappear as much as he wants to stay. 

To his credit, the man pretends to be interested throughout the speech, though Credence can’t think of a reason why he would be. Whatever he does, whoever he is, Credence’s life can’t possibly impact his. Still, he keeps his eyes on Credence’s face the entire time, robbing him of all his usual calm. By the time Credence finishes his speech, he couldn’t have told his mother what he said if his life depended on it. But the man takes pity on him and doesn’t leave, proving yet again that he’s there for another reason. 

“What’s your name?” he asks, stepping forward and into Credence’s personal space. Around them, the city keeps moving, ignoring the two men standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Once or twice, Credence sees someone shoot them a glare, but where they might have shouldered Credence out of the way, they give this man a wide berth. 

“Credence Barebone,” he answers, as clearly and calmly as he can. 

The man’s eyebrows shoot up and Credence flushes. He feels the sudden and mortifying desire to explain himself somehow, but the man stops him. 

“Credence?” He nods, the shine of curiosity in his eyes. “How interesting. Unique. It means belief, yes? Trust.” 

Credence nods, his words stolen again. The man smiles and holds out his hand. Credence scrambles to shake it, quickly shifting the pamphlets to his left hand. It hurts, but it’s worth it to feel the strength in the other man’s grip, and especially the warmth. 

“My name is Percival Graves. Not as interesting as yours, I know, but there it is.” He pauses, but by the time Credence realizes that he should say something Graves is talking again, unbothered. “I was wondering if you might be willing to continue our conversation? Perhaps not in the middle of the street? I think we have a lot to talk about.” 

The urgency that the offer inspires in Credence makes him finds his voice. “Yes, Mr. Graves. I agree.” 

Graves smiles again. He holds out his arm invitingly, a ring for Credence to step into, which he does. The air feels different, dangerous and charged by some secret. It’s not normal, not natural. Credence has heard stories like this, warnings about strangers. All his life his mother told him not to do this very thing. But he isn’t a child anymore. Even if he thinks Graves might be leading him away to murder him, to do something terrible, Credence can go, and he does.

He has never wanted to trust someone so badly. 

***

The children are let into their church at exactly noon. Modesty opens the door. Mother and Chastity stand at the front, identical expressions on their faces, hands clasped. Credence waits by the table, ready to serve. It’s a job he has always volunteered for, ever since he was old enough to be trusted not to spill the food. 

Even then, he did drop the ladle once, and his mother picked it up and hit him so hard across the knuckles with it that his left ring finger is still a little crooked. Of course, he never dropped it again. He flexes his fingers now, feeling the distortion and thinking about his upcoming meeting with Mr. Graves. 

He keeps an eye out for every child that interacts directly with his mother, looking for the special one. Mr. Graves has vision. He sees things that are yet to come. Like Joan of Arc, he is the vessel for something greater, a leader of his kind. One day, Credence will be too. But he doesn’t see anything in this group, at least not yet. 

“Sir?” a nervous voice calls up to him, wary but firm. 

Credence looks down into the eyes of a child, no more than ten or eleven. He smiles reflexively and spoons some soup into his waiting bowl. “Here you go.” 

The child smiles back and then disappears to eat, sinking down onto the first available patch of floor. Credence watches him while dispensing the rest of the meals, caught in his own thoughts. He could have easily been one of these children, or worse. 

At the end of the line, Chastity hands out the pamphlets. Credence eyes them with growing distaste. The spreading of lies, alarming and misinforming the public. Mr. Graves had shown Credence real magic, had even healed him with it. There had been no blood rituals, no animal or human sacrifices, just a soft touch and relief. Mother doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Or maybe she does, and she’s the one spreading evil. 

Credence averts his gaze and refocuses on his task, earning smiles and quiet thanks from the children. This isn’t evil, that much he knows. But Mr. Graves didn’t say that it was. He said that there wasn’t much true about absolute good or evil. His mother can be kind to him and also hurt him. She can give Credence a name and and life and then ruin it. They don’t have to balance out. He thinks about his other mother, the one he knows he had before. She practiced magic. Had she been evil after all? Mr. Graves isn’t evil, that much is clear. 

“Hurry up,” his mother hisses in his ear, making Credence jump slightly. She smiles at him, but it doesn’t touch her eyes. “We have a presentation for our guests.” 

The hair on the back of his neck stands up, but he complies. For now, it’s the best move. That’s one thing he and Mr. Graves had agreed upon. It’s best for him to stay, as least for as long as it takes to identify and protect the child. If that means sitting through another witch burning sermon, so be it. Like he often does, Credence puts his mind in a different place, a different time. The first time Mr. Graves had met with him. 

He had taken Credence to a small cafe, only a few streets away from Credence’s home but worlds away from his people. They were taken to a terrace high an entire floor above the patio, separate from the other well-dressed patrons. Credence had looked out over the street, secure in the knowledge that even if his mother or sister did walk by, they would never look for him up there. He felt Mr. Graves watching him and faced front again, sitting up straight, determined not to be an embarrassment. When Mr. Graves ordered them coffee, Credence watched him back, still feeling in the dark. 

“You must have questions,” Mr. Graves said, pleasantly. “And I forgot to ask, are you hungry?” 

Credence took a shaky breath. “No, thank you,” he lied, even though the smells went straight to his head. Looking back, it was more of an avarice than a hunger, he’d never seen food that fine outside of a shop window. 

Mr. Graves had smiled like he knew Credence was only being polite. “Such manners. And they say discipline has fallen by the wayside these days.” 

Credence clenched his hand under the table, the sharp sting of his nails grounding. He raised his chin slightly. “Not with me, sir.” 

Another smile. “You can drop the sir, Credence.” 

Heat blossomed in Credence’s chest, unfortunately spreading up his chest and neck. His ears must have been red, if not his face. Luckily for him, the waitress came and deposited their coffee, allowing him to get a hold of himself. 

Credence took a sip right away, burning his mouth. He smiled. “This is excellent, thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, of course.” Mr. Graves nodded and traced the rim of his cup with his thumb. “Now, I have a confession.” 

“You’ve been following me,” Credence replied without thought, then flushed again. “I’m sorry, I-” The only saving grace is that Mr. Graves tips his head back and laughs. 

“Yes,” he said, still smirking. “But that’s not what I was going to say. It wouldn’t be much of a confession if you already knew what I had done, and I know you’ve been watching me as much as I’ve been watching you.” 

Afraid of what else he might say, Credence had only inclined his head, taking another sip of the bitter drink to have something to do with his hands. Mr. Graves leaned forward, eyes sharp, bird-like. Credence felt, and in some ways still feels, like the mouse caught in the eagle's gaze. But he hadn’t left. 

Mr. Graves tilted his head, apparently satisfied. “You don’t strike me as someone who made it as far as you have without be able to recognize an opportunity.” 

Credence blinked. “I- I suppose not.” 

“Call it a survival instinct. Yes?” 

That, Credence recognized. “Yes.” 

Mr. Graves nodded, smiling slightly. He pushed the coffee pot in Credence’s direction. “Here. Drink up.” 

Credence had, and they talked, about Credence’s family, about his work, and Mr. Graves looked him in the face the entire time, his full attention on him. Then Mr. Graves had settled back in his chair. “I’m going to tell you something important. Are you ready to listen?”

Credence, who had never been so bored after listening to himself in his life, nodded. It was Mr. Graves’ smile more than his words that had stuck with him. Though the words made their impression too. Wizard. Magic blood. Task. Vision. 

He is brought out of his reverie by the sharp sound he quickly links to the church door closing with a snap. Credence covers his surprise and looks over to the source. To his surprise, the congregation is still there, his mother stern faced in front of them. 

She shakes her head. “Take heed, children. Not all can accept the truth. It takes strength that must be cultivated. Think of Jesus in the wilderness…” 

Credence breathes out, thankful that he wasn’t caught daydreaming. The last thing he needs is punishment when he is due to meet with Mr. Graves. His survival has a larger purpose now, which makes it all the easier to listen in on what he no longer believes, on the rules he will soon be willingly, eagerly, violating. He keeps his gaze politely trained on her, setting the example for the children. 

When Graves found him it was the finding of the light. It’s exactly what Credence has been trying to feel in church for over twenty years. The savior, larger than life and yet startlingly human and right there for him. True deliverance. In some ways, the priest had been right. 

All it had taken was an open mind and a willing heart. 

***

Sometimes, but not very often, Mr. Graves brings Credence to a brick house in the upper west side. Or at least, Credence is pretty sure that’s where it is based on the view from the bedroom window. They come and go by magic, apparating as Mr. Graves calls it, from the alley to the living room and back again. It’s always the same house, but Credence suspects that he doesn’t really live there. There’s nothing wrong with it, but it’s too normal to be his. 

Today, Mr. Graves had taken one look at him in the alley and stepped into his space, taking his arm lightly. Credence took a breath in anticipation of the pressure that he knew would squeeze the air from him if allowed, and then the next moment they were in the kitchen, the light streaming in gently from the window. 

Credence leans against the counter heavily, careful not to put any pressure on his hands or arms. Mother had been particularly displeased yesterday, and now he’s dizzy. Blood loss, he knows. The doctor had talked about it a lot after Chastity broke a window when they were children and he fell in the glass. It’s important to eat, but he hadn’t. Dizziness, fainting, hysteria in the later stages. Credence hopes he doesn’t get that in front of Mr. Graves. 

Mr. Graves leaves and then comes back into his line of sight with a plain white mug. He sets it down and reaches for one of Credence’s hands, gently running his fingers along the broken skin. Credence breathes carefully, evenly. He had cried yesterday, behind the church where hopefully no one heard or saw, but he still feels hollowed out, angry. It had been the first time in a long time, and it’s even more important that Mr. Graves doesn’t see that. 

“Credence?” Mr. Graves calls to him, and Credence looks up, realizing that he’d been staring off into space. 

“Yes?” He looks down and sees his sleeve rolled up, his right hand and arm now spotless. 

“Oh. Thank you,” he says, trying to put some of the gratitude he feels into his voice, but it’s hard. 

Mr. Graves frowns, clearly displeased. Credence hadn’t tried hard enough. He shakes his head, trying to clear it, and refocuses. “I really am grateful, you have to-” A hand lands on his shoulder, startling him. 

“Drink.” 

Credence blinks. “What?”

Mr. Graves nods to the mug beside him and lets him go again, setting about gingerly rolling up his other sleeve. “Drink. I believe you are in shock. That will help.” 

Credence looks down at the mug again. It looks ordinary. “Does it have magic?” 

Mr. Graves smiles slightly, still focused on his task. “Some would say that depends on how you look at it, but yes. It also has chocolate.” 

Credence picks it up and drinks it all, hoping some of the magic will stay with him. Warmth spreads through his chest, calming some of the residual burning from before. He closes his eyes, feeling the magic spread and the pain in his arm slowly recede, leaving behind a cool nothingness. Mr. Graves had done this for him before, but absently, while they were talking about business, and they never spoke of it. He rather hopes they don’t have to speak of it now. 

“Feel better? More normal?” 

Credence opens his eyes. “Normal?”

Mr. Graves is looking back at him, eyebrows raised. Abruptly horrified, Credence stands up straight. “Yes, thank you.” 

“Good.” His gaze flickers down to Credence’s arms and then back up. “It’s never been this bad before. Did something happen?” 

Credence looks away, putting the mug back on the counter. “Nothing magical, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“It’s part of it, but I’m also concerned.” 

“I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“I can see that, but perhaps we should anyway.” 

Credence presses his lips together and breathes. He counts in his head. He makes a fist, letting his nails did in. Mr. Graves watches, gaze fixed and assessing. 

“You have...good emotional control, don’t you?” 

Credence shrugs. “I did.” 

“What do you mean?” Mr. Graves asks, pressing in. Credence had seen this expression on him before, the raw curiosity and desire for information. He doesn’t particularly like it directed at him. 

“I don’t know.” 

“I think you do.” 

“You changed me,” Credence shoots back, quickly, hoping that it will put an end to it but knowing that it won’t. 

True to form, Mr. Graves tilts his head, holding Credence still with his uncompromising focus. “I haven’t done anything to you. No spells, no-” 

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Credence hisses, interrupting him for the first time ever. It feels wrong already, but he can’t stop. Lucky for him Mr. Graves only raises his eyebrows, evidently used to things much scarier than Credence. Still, Credence speaks without thinking, some morbid part of him curious to see how much he will take, what it will take for Mr. Graves to get rid of him, to see that Credence is rotten inside. 

“It’s you that undoes me. You been unravelling my control, taking me apart piece by piece. With everyone I can be controlled, but not here!” he yells and then gasps, his own voice startling him. 

“Ah.” Mr. Graves reaches out and puts his hand on Credence’s shoulder, gripping firmly, the heat from his hand burning. “But you see, that wasn’t me.” 

Credence leans into the touch, feeling like a puppet with cut strings. When he speaks his voice comes out small, too much like the child he left behind. “Then what?” 

Mr. Graves leans in too, so close that their noses are almost touching. Credence can hardly breath, oddly reminded of the stories of cats that would crawl in baby cribs and steal the air from a sleeping child. His mother used to warm him about this, too. 

Mr. Graves gives him a little shake that rocks him to his bones, his expression more open and earnest than Credence had ever seen.“You’ve been asleep, Credence. Being awake is much harder.” 

***

Credence is running late. He’s truly running too, trying to do the impossible and beat the clocks that have already passed him over. Pointless, like so much of what he does. Like asking him mother not to hit him or trying not to look at Mr. Graves for too long at any given time. To stop his thoughts, his actions even. 

Hardly anyone looks at him as he passes, too busy with their own affairs to notice a man in threadbare clothes and the apparent potential for magic running past. Credence looks forward to the day when he can leave them entirely, going to whatever place Mr. Graves occupies, because it surely isn't here. He had been considering it, and there must be other places, other society, a government even. Or at least a governing group. Credence doesn't know a lot, but he’d been thinking about how his life would be in the future, and he's sure that secrets like this don't just stay hidden without help. Perhaps that's what he can offer once he learns, help the other wizards with keeping them separate, hidden from the rest of the rot of the world. 

He tries to put all these thoughts behind him as he crossed the threshold of him home. His mother might not have evil magic, but she is adept at reading people, and especially her children. Credence already runs the risk of a beating, he doesn't need to make it worse for himself now by showing signs of sinful thoughts. 

Though some miracle, his mother is busy when he arrives. Credence is able to slip inside and take his place at the side of the gathering. It's a small group, made up of the true believers his mother had managed to painstakingly cultivate over the years, a mix of anxious mothers and hard faced young people looking for a place to vent their frustrations. One day, a lifetime ago, he would have vied with Chastity to be their next leader, to take over this church and make it even bigger. Now, as far as Credence is concerned, Chastity can have them all. 

Relieved but already looking forward to leaving again, Credence lets his gaze wander. From across the room, a girl smiles at him. He smiles back mechanically, doing what is expected of him until he can reasonably leave again. But then she starts walking towards him. Credence watches her curiously, wondering what she could want from him apart from the usual food rations she comes to get with her siblings, though she is getting a bit old, he supposes. She comes at him from the side, and he turns to face her, uncomfortable already. 

“Hello Credence,” she says, voice pitched low to match the rest of the room. It's conference time, the period before gathering in which his mother speaks with everyone, gathering news, checking loyalties. Credence glances around. No one seems to be paying attention to them. 

He dips his head politely. “Hello.” 

The girl, who can't be much more than fifteen, smiles more broadly and tilts her head. “How have you been lately?” she asks, only further confirming to him that he doesn't know her. 

“Very well,” he responds and then tenses when she reaches for him, laying a hand on his arm. 

She runs her fingers along his sleeve lightly. “Good. I was wondering, do you know if your mother needs any extra help? It's just that my mother is terribly interested in helping move the group forward and I would be...grateful if you would ask.” 

He frowns at her, and her hand migrates higher up his arm. Credence blinks and then stares at her blankly, realizing all at once what she’s offering. Shocked, he leans away, breaking their contact. “I think you should go find your mother,” he says, feeling a surprising amount of nothing at all. She holds no interest for him, especially now. 

The girl’s face turns red and then white, her gaze catching on something behind him. “Yes sir,” she mutters and skitters away.

Credence turns, but not quickly enough to match his mother, who grabs his shoulder from behind. He jumps. This touch holds more meaning, though it is no less unwanted than the last. “Mother, did you-”

“I saw that Credence,” she says close to his ear, still standing behind him. He freezes, acutely aware that they are likely being watched and ashamed to find that he still care if they see what his mother is. 

“I- you did?” he whispers, though he isn't sure what he did wrong, but then he often doesn’t know. His heart rate picks up, fearful of what this will mean for his punishment on top of being late, and worse, what it could mean for his freedom to come and go. He’d rather take a beating than be denied his time with Graves. 

His mother’s grip loosens and she pats his shoulder lightly. “I did. Restraint is a virtue. You should always seek to so incorruptible.”

She sounds proud of him. It's a tone usually directed at Chastity, one he would have given up much to hear just a few weeks ago. Now, it confuses him. 

Credence turns his head to stare at her blankly, trying to formulate the proper response and holding it for a moment too long. Is she putting on a front for the other members? A show to demonstrate her devotion to the path of the Lord? As his mind turns over on itself, her smile starts to slip, and he scrambles for a reply that will please her instead. 

“I only seek to do as you taught me mother.” He turns in her grasp and clasps her left shoulder, mirroring her. “The victory is yours, and our Lord’s.” 

The words feel like cotton in his mouth, unnatural and uncomfortable, but he believed them so recently it's easy to slip back into that man his mother made. 

She smiles again, the light touching her eyes. “It belongs to both of us. Don't think I don't know how hard you've been working.” 

Credence smiles back, aware that no matter what he says, she will say the opposite. His mother pats his head lightly, like she did when he was ten and despite the fact that he’s taller than her now, and drifts away, eyes sharp and mouth set back in it's hard lines. Credence watches her go, conflicted. 

The day before, Mr. Graves had touched him, caressed his face. He hadn’t felt so incorruptible then. Self denial only counts if there's a real temptation. When Mr. Graves slowly traced his fingers along Credence’s cheekbone, he would have given him anything. 

It wasn’t the first time Credence’s desires had crossed out of dreams and into this strange new world he's living in. 

The first time, Mr. Graves had slung his arm across Credence’s shoulders to draw him closer, to whisper one of their secrets away from prying ears. Credence had frozen, his muscles locking down without his permission. His mind and heart raced, a rabbit running itself into the ground. Was this normal amongst wizards? If a man, any man other than Mr. Graves, had touched him so casually Credence would at least understand what it meant even if he didn't desire the implication. But here, with this man, he has no map and he's terrified of making a mistake. 

Obviously noticing his inner turmoil, Mr. Graves had hesitated. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” he said quietly, already pulling away again. 

Credence felt panic grip his heart at the near loss of contact and instinctively stepped sideways to keep them together. “It’s alright. I don’t mind,” he replied, too quickly. 

Mr. Graves must have known he was lying, could probably feel his heart pound. Credence more than didn’t mind. Still, Mr. Graves had smiled at him, his expression almost fond, and left his arm where it was. Ever since, it seemed that with every touch, Credence’s life had only gotten better. 

“Paul?” a voice calls out, and Credence’s head snaps up liked he'd been called. Then he freezes, staring at the little boy who actually belongs to the name as he runs for his mother, little legs struggling with his enthusiasm. 

The possibility bubbles up in his mind, a half remembered memory that he quickly buries, forcibly thinking of other things, anything. Credence breathes out and then in deliberately, shaken, and glances around. His gaze lands on Chastity like it had been pulled there. 

It's clear that she had seen, her eyes wide and delighted. Someone is talking to her, one of her little birds, but she isn’t paying them any mind. Credence narrows his eyes at her, but she just stares back, unaffected. She’ll call him Paul when they’re alone now, he knows it. 

Anger boils up in his chest, a feeling he has no use for. He takes a breath and buries that, too. The start of a tremor comes up in his hand, so he shapes it into a fist and walks away, looking for Modesty instead. He’s been teaching her to read during their free time, but lately he’d been busy. Guilt crawls up his throat at the way she smiles when she sees him coming, small and brief. She’s smart, sees everything. She’s not a parrot like Chastity, which is part of why they’d been fighting a small war over her soul since the day mother brought her home, crying for her real siblings. 

Chastity had insisted over and over that they were her siblings now. Credence hadn't, and so had won the first battle for her allegiance. Being a boy had set him back, of course, but no amount of similarity between girls could make up for a lack of basic kindness. Credence would always win in that regard. It's him that wakes Modesty up from nightmares and holds her hand. Chastity just wants to do her hair and then take it down before mother comes home to see then dressed up like harlots. 

Credence pokes Modesty in the nose after checking to make sure mother isn't looking. “What mischief are you up to?” 

Modesty smiles. “Me and Mel are going witch hunting.” 

A squeezing sensation grips him in the chest. “Mel and I.” He says, eying the other little girl critically. It's not like they can do any real harm. “But that sounds fun.”

“Want to come?” 

He smiles at her. “I have to go work.” 

She shrugs, used to greater disappointments than that. “Ok.” 

Mel tugs on her sleeve and whispers something in her ear. Modesty shoots her a look and gets up, waving to Credence as she goes. “Be back before the meeting starts,” he hisses at her, though it's not like her needs the reminder. None of them want to disobey mother. 

Modesty nods to him, serious for a moment before turning away. Credence purposefully breathes again, just like he learned as a child, though his chest feels tight. Someday soon he won't be here anymore. He’s looking forward to it, more than he had for everything else in his life. It consumes his thoughts, not to mention his dreams. For once, he has a future to look up to. But his mind claws at itself over worries for Modesty. 

Credence moves to the wall and leans against, hoping people have had enough of him for one day and turning over the problem in his mind. Maybe he can help Modesty once he’s saved from this place. If he can be taught, changed, why not her? Even if she can't learn, she can still come with him. Credence can make a place for her in his new world, just like a place was made for him. From across the room, he can feel Chastity’s eyes still on him, and clenches his teeth. He will, he decides. 

One day, he’ll be as strong as his mother chose him to be, and he’ll come back for her. 

*** 

The house Graves brings him to has taken on special meaning for Credence. It’s the place where Graves first kissed him, first undressed him, first took him, all on different occasions. 

Today, Credence does his best to keep his grip on Graves’ shoulders as he thrusts up and into him, pinning him to the wall with every move he makes. The sensation of being penetrated that had seemed so overwhelming before is now a comfort, part of a wider sense of belonging, of being claimed. Credence whines in the back of his throat when Graves hits a particularly sensitive spot by chance, letting his head hit the wall with a loud sound that makes Graves laugh through his harsh breathing. He leans forward and gently bites Credence on the collar bone before smoothing over it with his tongue. The first time he had done it, Credence had gasped and come all over his stomach and Graves’ hand. Now he groans and turns his head, catching his lips with his own. 

The wall is wide and cold against his back, supporting and grounding him in the moment. When they’re in a bed Credence has the tendency to lose himself in the feeling, going lax and forgetting to move. Like this, he stays completely aware and able to participate, running his nails along Graves’ back, rolling his hips in time to the rhythm set for him. It’s a heady, terrifying feeling, but he’s getting so much better at it. 

Graves shifts his grip on Credence’s thighs, hiking him up a little further on the wall, positioning him a little better. He doesn’t quiet hit the spot inside Credence again, the one that makes him pant and writhe, hot sparks of electricity shooting up and through his skin. In this position, he probably won’t at all, but it doesn’t matter. Credence does his best to help, keeping his muscles tight and his back straight even though he’s shaking with the effort. He’d never been terribly strong, but it’s worth it to know that he’s getting stronger with every time they do this, and bringing them closer to equal. 

It's one of Graves’ favorite positions, Credence had noticed. Graves goes mad to take Credence while standing up, either like this or with Credence bent over or even lying down. The fact that he'd been with him enough to notice this brings Credence more pleasure than anything else. Every fact he learns means he owns something about Graves, some piece of the bigger picture that will one day add up to a whole. 

“Come on,” Graves says through clenched teeth, his rhythm starting to break down. Credence knows what that means now too. He sits up as straight as he can, putting the weight on his arms so he can squeeze his legs around Graves’ hips, making him gasp and his arms shake. 

Graves’ hips stutter and press forward one final time, driving Credence back into the wall sharply as he comes. His grip goes slack, and Credence scrambles to grab onto the dresser to his left to keep from sliding down the wall, suddenly grateful that he hadn’t lost his senses too. This way, he can help hold Graves up. He can be a participant rather than just a follower. 

The hands on Credence’s thighs tighten again and Graves groans and presses his face into Credence’s neck, breathing sharply as if smelling him. Credence hums and leans forward as far as he can while still staying stable, letting his cheek rest against his hair. He’s still hard between them, but it’s a languid, indulgent feeling that runs all the way to his outer limbs, coiled but lacking in urgency. 

“You’re so good,” Graves mutters into his neck, his words muffled. “How did you get like this?” 

Credence's breath catches in his throat, the heat spreading through him again at the words. His legs, already weakening from the exertion, start to shake. Graves noses at his neck and then runs his tongue along the tendon there, making Credence suck in a shocked breath that turns into a moan. He rocks, in Graves’ hold, some of the urgency surging back up to the surface. Graves chuckles and abruptly straightens, pulling them both away from the wall. 

Credence startles, his legs almost slipping. But Graves hold him tightly, walking them back to the center of the room. He all but throws Credence down onto the bed, making him bounce. Credence gets himself halfway sitting up on his elbows and feels his face heat when he sees Graves standing over him, openly staring. His eyes dart up to Credence’s face and he smirks. 

“Don’t tell me you’re shy again?” 

Credence tries to lift his chin, the effect rather ruined when Graves gets onto his knees. “No.” But all he can manage is a hoarse whisper. 

“I see,” Graves says, visibly amused as he reaches forward and pulls Credence to the end of the bed, dangling his legs off the edge. He eyes Credence critically, running his fingers lightly over the soft skin of his inner thighs. “Poor thing.” 

Credence lets himself fall flat on his back as Graves pulls his legs apart and insinuates himself between them. The light pressure holding him place increases when Credence tests it, trying and utterly failing to close his legs. Graves smiles against his skin, slowly moving from one hip bone to the other. Credence shivers in anticipation. He never lasts long, and today is not likely to be any different. 

Graves never seems to have the patience to tease Credence for long, whether out of a desire for him or from a simple extension of his focused personality Credence doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter, not when he’s taking Credence into his mouth all at once, completely wonderful and utterly overwhelming as always. Credence grips at the sheets, desperate for something for his hands to do, to distract him. 

On instinct, he reaches down and puts his hands in Graves’ hair, giving into his desire to touch, to have some measure of control in the situation. If Graves didn’t want Credence to touch him like this, he wouldn’t be, not for long. Emboldened, Credence runs his fingers through it, completely ruining the carefully controlled order. 

Graves seems to take it almost as a challenge, increasing his pace to a near punishing level. Credence whines in the back of his throat and tries to resist, to hold onto the sensation for as long as he can. He could happily stay in this room forever. His muscles contract, but when he tries to bend his legs at the knees, to draw them up, he is held down. It makes him pant like the animal he feels he’s become. And then Graves swallows around him, and he loses control, his body going taught as he comes into Graves’ mouth. His muscles lock and his mind goes blank to everything outside of the sensation of release. 

Graves hums in approval and it vibrates up Credence’s spine, making him gasp. He’s drifting, in and out to the point that he barely notices Graves climbing up onto the bed and dropping down next to him, but he feels it when Graves’ hand runs through his hair. Credence closes his eyes and rolls over, putting himself closer. He wants Graves to wrap his arm around his waist and roll him back down, to pin Credence to the bed and fall asleep on top of him. He’d done it before, but it’s a fantasy they don't have time for right now. 

True to form, Graves runs his hand through Credence’s hair again, softly at first and then more insistently. “What time do you have to be home?” 

Now. Credence keeps his eyes closed. “Soon.” 

“Well let’s get going then, I don’t want you to get into-” 

“I know,” Credence says, rolling away and immediately setting about for his clothes. He finds most of them right away, but his shirt eludes him, a victim of Graves’ rabid enthusiasm. He gets like that sometimes, touching Credence more urgently, kissing him as part of a greater sequence of events instead of just for the feeling. It’s the kind of love that Credence had learned he wants the most, the gripping, insistent kind. He finds the shirt under the bed and methodically put himself back together, not wanting to leave. 

“Be careful when you go home,” Graves says, not looking at him now, focused on his own appearance. “Stay alert.” 

Credence glances over at him but doesn't say anything, still double checking his clothes. Graves always chides him for letting his mother harm him but at the same time won't let him leave. It stings, but Credence can’t blame him, not really. He doesn't understand what it's like. He can't possibly. 

_For now_ , he always says. But that will change. Eventually Credence will leave and Graves will teach him. It's just a matter of surviving until then. Then they’ll be together, maybe in the little house, maybe somewhere else. 

No matter what, Credence will be able to stand beside him. 

He's not sure what kind of expression is on his face, but it must be interesting because Graves glances up at him and then immediately refocuses. He closes the space between them, hands coming up to grip his shoulders. “We’re very close, I can feel it.”

He looks down and reaches for Credence’s jacket, pulling it straight, restructuring his carefully defined order. “You've done so well, Credence, and for so long.” 

Usually, Credence would thank him, or say that he did it for Graves. But he feels strange today, more sad to leave, and so what he actually says is, “Credence isn’t my real name.”

Graves looks up, surprise taking over his usually composed features. “What?” He sounds almost delighted. 

Credence flushes, though he’s gratified for the attention, even after everything they had done. “I mean, it’s my name, but it’s not the name I had when I was born. It’s the name Mrs. Barebone gave me.” 

Graves cocks his head to the side, intent. “What was your birth name?”

“I don’t know.” 

He nods, a contemplative look on his face. “I see. What do you want to be called?”

Credence blinks, caught off guard. “I- I don’t know.” 

Graves leans in, a slow smile spreading across his face. His hand goes to the back of Credence’s neck, holding him still. As if he was going anywhere. “Think about it. When you take your place with us, you can start over. Take any name that you want, if you want.” 

_Graves_ , Credence thinks, and leans forward to capture him in a kiss. Graves hums, his grip tightening on the back of Credence’s neck as he runs his tongue along the seam of his lips. Credence opens his mouth automatically, longing taking over once again. There’s a sudden pressure, a familiar rushing sound. When he opens his eyes, he’s back in the alley and Graves is gone. 

Credence takes a deep breath, putting himself back together before heading down the alley and back to his other life, thinking about what he wants to be called. 

Later, of course, they’ll call him Obscurity, but he hadn’t known that at the time.


End file.
